


Mad, bad man (woman)

by Mikasaessucasaa



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Mafia AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26446174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikasaessucasaa/pseuds/Mikasaessucasaa
Summary: There was never any escaping the dark gravity between them.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 69





	Mad, bad man (woman)

Her red hair shines across the dance floor even in the moments between the flashing lights across the dance floor. A hazy memory of a past love fleets into his thoughts, but his past love would never be here where he is now with the blaring club songs, the booze, the drugs, and the sex.

Jon nudges his brother and points to the tall redhead in the middle of the dance floor. His brother lazily pulls his eyes away from the busty brunette in his lap to peek across the floor.

“Who? Joffrey’s girl?” Egg grunts.

“Yeah, the redhead,” Jon insists.

Egg clicks his tongue. “Stay away from her, she’s a used-up Stark girl.”

Jon bristles at his brother’s degrading words. “But what’s her name?”

Egg rolls his eyes. “I’m telling you, brother, that’s not something you want to mess with. If she doesn’t fuck you up, her siblings will. That whole gods damned family acts as if she’s the jewel of the north.”

And Jon doesn’t know if it’s because he wants to go against his new found family with all of it’s suffocating rules, or if he’s actually that interested in her, but he says, “I don’t care.”

Egg finally relents and says, “Sansa.”

“Sansa Stark,” Jon says softly, trying out the name on his tongue, and he finds that a thrill runs up his spine at the sound of it. He likes the name, a lot.

He stands up to find the one that owns the name before Egg could protest. Behind him he vaguely hears his brother yelling, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you! Girl’s a man eater!”

Jon works his way through the bumping bodies until he finds her trying to fend off a touchy hand. He grabs the hand, and the man takes one look at Jon and shies away. There had to be at least some perks to becoming part of the Targaryen family after all. In the last couple of months since his father had “discovered” him and forced him to join the family business, Jon had become infamous for his viciousness and efficiency. 

He pulls up behind Sansa, and gently presses his hand on her hip, and says over the music, “May I have this dance?”

She turns her head towards him, gently whipping her hair against his face. He finds that he likes the softness of it, and imagines how it would feel to grab a handful of it as he pushes himself inside of her. She takes stock of him, measuring his look, assessing his wealth, before answering with a smirk, “Jon Targaryen. Of course you may.”

With her permission, he pulls her roughly against him, and she grinds against him to the beat of the music. The smell of her flowery perfume over the musk of dancing bodies was heady. He barely drank tonight, and yet he feels intoxicated. He presses his face against her neck and takes a deep breath. She shivers against him, and he turns her around to press his leg between hers as he grabs her hip possessively. She looks at him as if she expected it, but she presses a gentle hand on his chest, creating a semblance of distance between them, and gods he wants her.

“Come back to my place with me,” he says gruffly.

She shakes her head softly and gives an amused smile. “No,” she says, but she grabs his hand and drags him off of the dance floor anyways. She takes him through a darkened hallway and exits in a narrow alleyway. A large man with a menacing scar on his face stands at the corner of alleyway and grunts at Sansa before turning his back on them and moving further away.

“You know that man?” Jon asks softly into her neck has he pushes her against the wall. 

She moans as he kisses her neck and grabs at her ass. “Yeah, he’s Joffrey’s man.”

Jon chortles into her neck. “They say you’re trouble.”

“They say the same thing about you,” she answers, grinding her core against his leg.

He moans, biting into her neck and grinding back. “Joffrey will have my head.”

“Or maybe you’ll give me his,” she whispers.

He pulls his head and looks at her eyes carefully. There was something dangerous lurking there, and he knows if he lets it have a bite of him, it would swallow him whole. But in that moment he didn’t give a damn.

“If that’s what you want, I can give it to you. I can give you anything.”

She laughs softly, and the sound pounds in his head. “I’m sure you Targaryens believe that.” 

“I’ll prove it to you,” Jon promises.

Sansa drops her leg, and puts her hand on his shoulder and pushes him down. He easily relents and drops to his knees and slips his hands underneath her tight dress to push the hem up above her hips and lifts her leg over his shoulder. He spells out his promises into her wet and pretty and needy cunt until she’s hissing his name out of her lips, and he’d kneel down before her a hundred times until she believes him.

Seven days later, Joffrey is dead, though not by Jon’s hands, and he finds her again at the public funeral. He accosts her in another empty hallway and pulls her into a small study at the Storm’s End manor.

“I thought you wanted me to give you his head?” He asks.

She gives the same elusive smirk from the club. “Not everyone gets what they want, I suppose.”

“But you do,” he insists.

“If you believe that, you’ve mistaken me severely,” she says now with a sad smile that Jon can’t help but resent.

He pulls her close, and she doesn’t resist. “I want you,” he says.

“Everyone wants me,” she answers as if agreeing.

Jon frowns, “But what do you want?”

She flutters her eyes towards him, and giving him a brief show of vulnerability says, “It hardly matters.”

He squeezes her arms, “It does, it must.”

“I want to be loved.”

And Jon releases a rough breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He can want her physically and maybe emotionally even, but he’s not sure if he can love again, not after what they did to him. And somehow he thinks that she knows this isn’t something that he could give her.

She kisses his cheek softly and then finds her way to his mouth, kissing, probing, making her way into his soul. He opens up to her completely. He fucks her slowly on the mahogany desk, and she’s in him just as he’s in her. 

Three months later, she’s engaged to Hardyng, and Egg jokes, “She’s the most expensive whore in all of Westeros. I don’t understand what’s so special about her. Do you think she has a golden cunt?”

Rhaenys hisses at him, “You’re only saying that because she’s never given you the time of day.”

“Oh, but I think Jonny boy here has been blessed,” Egg says, turning towards him across the breakfast table. “So tell me, is her cunt amazing?”

He flashes Egg a vicious smile and answers, “Worthy of worship.”

And he knows he has to find her, talk to her. He gets her number through a “friend of the family,” but she ignores everything that he sent. She’s been ignoring him since Joffrey’s funeral, and it's driving him mad. Finally, when he hears the wedding announcement, he finds her at her loft, another thing that he gets from a “friend of the family.”

She tuts at seeing him at her door. “I didn’t think you were the type to be a stalker Mr. Targaryen.”

“Call me Jon,” he huffs. 

She smiles her pretty little smile, and Jon aches and aches. She gestures for him to enter and offers her tea, like a sophisticated, polished woman would, and they settle down in her living room. “Okay, Jon. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“You’re getting married,” he says.

“I am,” she confirms. 

“Do you love him?”

She laughs. 

“Does he love you?” he presses. 

She gives him a disbelieving look. “Why does that matter?”

“You deserve to be loved,” he answers.

“No one deserves anything.”

“But you do,” he insists. 

“But you won’t love me.”

They sit in silence, hearing the clock on her wall tick by. He hates this. 

“You didn’t kill Joffrey,” he says at last.

“How do you know?” she asks.

“You don’t have it in you to kill someone.”

“Why not? I’ve killed my soul already haven’t I?”

Jon reaches across to hold her forearm in his hand. Has he always been attracted sad willowy creatures? He thinks of Ygritte and Val, and it’s only Sansa that stands out so differently.

“Don’t marry Harry,” he says at last.

She shrugs. “Nothing to be done about it, I must.”

“Why?”

She looks at him carefully, assessing his worth, like she did that first night. He’s only seen her twice since then, and yet he finds himself foolish for her.

Satisfied with what she finds once again she says, “The Starks are broke after the Lannisters’ betrayals. We need The Vale for their money and their manpower.” 

“So your brother sold you?” he hisses, livid against a man he has never met, but then again has he truly met the real Sansa? 

She shrugs. “We do what we must for the family. Surely, you’ve learned this lesson by now.”

He clicks his tongue. “Perhaps I am still learning what it means to be part of the family, but I thought you were meant to protect each other.”

“And I will by doing this.”

He moves his hand from her forearm and brings his other hand to clasp both of her hands. “Marry me instead.” 

She pulls back in surprise, but he holds on tight onto her hands. “You’re insane,” she says. “You don’t even know me.”

He bares his fangs at her. “No, I don’t, but I will keep you.”

“I’m not something to be kept.”

“Fine, then you will keep me.”

Sansa huffs at the mania of it all, and he can barely understand himself. “You’re mad.”

“I am.”

“And you’ll bring me down with you.”

“I will.”

“It’s the Targaryen blood in you.”

“It is.” Dragons only know how to destroy. He’s learned that by now.

“Okay.”

And he crushes her lips against hers, and stays in that moment for eternity. It’s not at all love, but it’s a desperation that he’s never felt in his whole life, not even as he almost died betrayed by the brothers he once loved. His blood sings and sings because it has never been more alive. In the morrow, his high will come crashing down, and there’ll be hell to pay for the things that he needs to ruin and break to have her. He knows, he knows, and yet he feels her lips and tongue against his, the press of her body, and he’d burn it all down just to have her. And she kisses back like she wants it all to burn.

—

Jon Targaryen is a mad, bad man. Sansa’s known about him since the Targaryens took him into the fold. 

“Something’s not right in his head,” her brother says, and she rolls her eyes, is anything right in anyone’s head? The Lannisters had murdered her father, she is sure of it, and yet they kept the betrothal.

“We’ll make them pay,” her sister says.

Really, they are no better than the Targaryens, though they pretend. They’ll get in bed with mockingbirds and falcons and flowers and flayers of men, just to get back at the Lannisters. And slowly her soul is ripped out of her until she too becomes a mad, bad woman.

And so she kisses Jon and makes love to him, or what do you call something between fucking and making love? Because there’s no way they loved each other, but they were crazy enough to devastate everything for what they felt between them. It isn't love. It's a frenzy.

She knows, she knows that she’ll be the one to break. Yet she kisses Jon over and over again, until all the things she so desperately tries to hold onto falls apart in her arms, until her brother falls dead into her arms. There’s a price to pay for broken oaths.

“Do you hate me for what happened?” Jon asks, as she lay naked and broken in his arms.

She wants to resent him, but it was her choice to burn instead of build. Dragons don’t plant trees, but neither do wolves.

“Will we fall apart too?” he presses.

And she doesn’t know because she doesn’t know how to hold onto something that she’s never had to begin with. 

Still, she has been waiting for that fire between them to burn out and yet there they were, standing unscathe in the ashes of their lives. Could the fire between them burn their whole lives? It was foolish to think so.

“Perhaps when you grow tired of me,” she answers.

“Never.”

“Then when you grow tired of killing for me.”

“There are too many bones and ghosts for another one to matter.” 

“What would you do to keep me by your side?” she asks, but she already knows the answer.

There is one last obstacle. He must become a kinslayer.

_Anything. Everything._

**Author's Note:**

> I’m really fascinated about Lyanna’s and Rhaegar’s relationship since it was so destructive, and I wanted to portray what that would look like in Jon and Sansa. Hope you enjoyed.


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